It doesn't matter what she has planned. She's open, which means you can use this moment to launch a full-on attack and take her out fast. You don't think you can knock her out in one blow, but you sure can knock her away. Over the side of the bridge, for example.
"Well," she starts, still standing there, cocky and confident. The perfect time to attack is always in the middle of a sentence. You've fought enough monologuing villains to know that. "Maybe I—"
You don't hesitate, you just shift your stance—which she notices a moment too late—and then launch the most powerful blow you are capable of right in her face. The impact is brutal, her head snapping back, and if it had been anyone else, you probably would have broken their neck.
Letting the momentum drive you backward, you put your whole weight into a kick, which lifts her clear of her feet.
She soars through the air like an arrow, right over the edge of the bridge. For a moment, you see her falling, flashing silver in the sunlight, and then she's gone.
Your laugh is distorted by your helmet but no less filled with mirth for that. That's a memory you'll treasure.
She really had no idea what hit her.
Time To Get Back To Work
Looking around, you can see no further threats. The LDPD has yet to arrive, and the onlookers are a scared crowd hovering behind their vehicles at a safe distance. The choppers in the sky have sunk as low as they dare, eager to capture every moment of your victory. Good, you put on a good display for their sake; you might as well enjoy the spoils. And the headlines…
You're looking forward to them.
Annoyingly enough, the Handyman is nowhere to be found. You scan the crowds but find no trace of his thoughts. Perhaps he's going after Lady Argent to try to save her. You can imagine he would have some gadgets that could be useful, perhaps a grappling hook or rappelling equipment. Not that it matters, you'll be gone long before she's back.
Not That You Dare Relax
Seeing that the battle has wrapped up, people start crowding a little closer. You're just about to do something with that when you pick up a stray thought focused clearly on you. Not a threatening one. Curious. It takes a moment for you to place her, because it is a her. A reporter. Intent on reaching you, making her way across the blocked lanes, weaving effortlessly through the mess on her bike.